March 12th: To the Top of the Algarve.

Foia, at 902 metres, is the highest mountain in southern Portugal and was our destination. The walk started from Monchique, a small spa town, and we sallied forth on a steep cobbled path leading past an abandoned nunnery.

Actually, the nunnery wasn’t abandoned at all because it was occupied by squatters: friendly squatters who invited us inside for a look. It was in a ruinous state, as were the squatters, but handsome in its’ proportions as the following photo shows.

One feature unexpectedly still nearly intact in the nunnery was this blue tiled panel. Blue tile scenes are found everywhere in the Algarve including churches, but ancient ones do have a second-hand value and it is surprising that the squatters hadn’t sold the panel on Monchique market. Still, it’ll be a nice feature for our bathroom.

We were treated to some wonderful views as we progressed upwards. Foia isn’t part of a mountain range, so the view is virtually 360 degrees from the top with both the south and west coasts of Portugal visible.

As a consequence of it being the highest summit, the top is crammed full of masts of every description and an area of military aerials that was off-limits. The big mast in the centre could almost be a rocket. Also at the top were a modern hotel, restaurant, café and gift shop and a big car park: not everybody is daft enough to walk to the top.

We went down a different way, through lots of brambles. The photo shows one of the easier sections and, as you can see, Jane and Derek are in good spirits. There were numerous wild flowers out, like irises and banks of primroses, so there were compensations for the scratches!

And bringing up the rear: a picturesque waterfall. When we arrived back in Monchique, Derek popped into an ironmongers to buy a mousetrap (not sure why he needed one). After paying for the mousetrap, the proprietor wouldn’t let him leave without taking a glass of the local jungle juice, a potent 90% proof spirit called medronho.Evidently this week’s special offer, with every mousetrap.

March 10th: The Long March

The idea was to drive to Lagos, an ancient walled town and port, catch a bus to Burgau 12 miles the other side, and then walk back to the cars at Lagos. The walk leader said the bus times had changed and now weren’t suitable, so we drove on to Burgau, leaving one car at Lagos to do the retrieval. Well, I know what I mean!

We stopped here for lunch, at Praia da Luz, around the half-way stage. This resort is quite developed, but with a pretty old quarter and promenade area where we sat and had lunch. It has quite different and sad associations these days, as just behind the large villa on the photo is the complex from which Madeleine McCann was snatched.

Leaving Praia da Luz, we climbed a steep hill that gave us a panorama of the town. The picture shows the view but also more sinisterly the soil erosion caused by the recent heavy rains. That’s the big crack in the foreground. Large sections of cliff have fallen since last year right along this stretch according to people on the walk. KEEP AWAY FROM THE EDGE!!

The last section of the journey took us past a headland full of spectacular weathered rock arches, blowholes and pinnacles that ran nearly all the way back to Lagos.
Lagos was the headquarters of Henry the Navigator in the early 15th century. Sadly, nothing remains of Henry’s headquarters or his school of navigation at Sagres nearby because in 1587 both towns were sacked by Sir Francis Drake. He is still referred to in Portugal as “the English pirate”.

March 2nd: The Package

We decided to order a book from Amazon, a Scrabble dictionary. The Amazon website made it easy: just fill in the delivery address, the site here in Portugal, and it will arrive in about 4 days.

From day 3 on we started calling into reception to check the parcel deliveries. A week went by and no parcel, but one morning there was a slip, addressed to us, from GTW the parcel delivery firm. Reception unscrambled this slip as a “Failure to Deliver Parcel” note, because we weren’t there to sign for it. We’d not realised it needed signing for or that reception don’t sign for campers’ parcels. No problem, we thought, we’ll pick it up from the GTW depot as the slip requested. Reception gave us directions to the address on the slip, Station Road, about 6 miles away, with a final reassuring, “You can’t miss it.”

We found Station Road ok but not the GTW parcel depot. We asked pedestrians in Station Road, in bars, workshops and shops. Nobody had heard of GTW. Finally, a shop manageress thought there might be a new business in Station Road and directed us to where she thought it was. We found, exactly where she said, the tiniest nameplate for GTW. It was actually a shop premises and peering through the plate glass window we observed that there was a desk but no other furniture, shelves or carpet. It looked like they’d moved in the previous day. A scribbled note on the door said, “Closed for Lunch”, i.e. an extended Portuguese lunch.

So we also went for lunch, in a snack bar where we had asked directions, and very nice it was too. So at 2.30 we entered the depot/shop to pick up the parcel. The parcel wasn’t there. Still on the van, we think the lady said, and if we go back to the campsite at 4.00 pm the parcel will be delivered. At 4.00 pm we were waiting. A van stormed into the camp parking area and a chubby driver got out, with a face like thunder. Clipboard→ sign→ parcel thrust into hand→ van roars off. And that’s how Jane spent her birthday!

March 4th: Country Tracks

Today we are following the Percuso das 7 Fontes, the route of the 7 springs. The walk leader said we would cross the river by some stepping-stones before coming to a traditional basket weaver’s workshop. Slight problem; the river’s in flood. But really this was only a small detour and doesn’t affect the main walk.

This is the decayed pumping device built over one of the springs. The long horizontal pieces of metal ran in a circle to drive the pump- presumably a horse or donkey provided the power for this- and the metal boxes on the ground formed a continuous loop lifting the water from the well.

We finished in the small town of Quarenca for coffee in the square, overlooked by this lovely Portuguese church. The sun shining on the church and the black clouds directly behind gave the scene a dramatic, biblical quality, and I was half expecting to hear a deep, omnipotent voice booming, “You’re all doomed.”

March 1st: Seaside Rocks

An organised coastal walk led us through a fascinating variety of rock formations. This first one is known locally as the frigate, and you can see why. The coast has eroded most unpredictably and you can be standing on what you believe to be solid ground only to find it has been severely undercut. The next photo is an example, with the people on top giving an idea of scale.

Erosion seems to apply equally to man-made structures. The walk leader pointed out that the bridge we had just crossed was built over a sheer drop to the sea. It had felt solid enough, with a concrete sidewall and floor slabs. “Now look back”, he said, ”It’s actually built on wooden supports which are rotting away!” The question is- would we have been able to open our umbrellas quickly enough if it had given way?

Back to the scenery! The rock arch, so they tell me, is like Durdle Door in Dorset and the last pic shows a rock like a shark’s tooth.

Feb27th: Some Ports in Portugal

There are still a few fishermen left. Here they winch the boats up a steep concrete ramp safe from the pounding seas. In the huts behind we saw much activity with nets being cleaned and stored away. Notice the small rock stack on the shore. It has been much undercut by the waves and will one day topple over in a storm or perhaps from a concerted heave-ho by the lager lads.

Vilamora marina is the largest in Portugal, where the trappings of wealth are to be displayed in the form of luxury yachts. This is one of the many sleek cruisers in the harbour, and appears to be made out of the same shiny silver material as must-have expensive upright fridge/freezers. The boat presumably comes equipped with a crushed ice button as part of the bridge controls.

This unusual plaque was fixed to the wall outside a bar, the Antiquities Bar, in the old port of Albufeira. I can’t decide if the crusader has had a heavy night at this very bar or is just plain seasick from a rough voyage back from the Holy Land!

Feb 24th: Group Walk

We start out climbing a dirt road that leads to a deserted village: it seems few youngsters want the arduous life of a peasant farmer. As expected, there is general decay, but some of the house fronts have fallen out, and one of the walkers, who lives here, said this would be due to earth tremors. Shades of the 1755 earthquake that destroyed much of Portugal!


Now we see the incredible concrete man, alias Terry, who has climbed the survey pillar at the highest point of our walk. This is where we eat our packed lunch.







On the way down from the hill, an energetic barking dog leapt out from a house beside the path and barred our way. We probably weren’t much at risk and, anyway, the owner swiftly appeared and grabbed the dog. I took a quick snap. Looking at this in more detail later, it appears that we were in more danger from being bitten by the owner than by the dog!

We pass through more orange groves and finally arrive at a village café-cum-grocery store where we order coffee, and sit outside on the wall as the café doesn’t have sufficient chairs for 13 walkers. All the while we are kept under surveillance by some locals in traditional (it would be nice to think) dress.


That’s us, on the wall, at the end of our 9 mile hike.